


Ordeal

by HaleHole (SweetFanfics)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 18:23:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetFanfics/pseuds/HaleHole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek gets hurt - again - and Stiles is the one who has to try and patch him up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ordeal

**Author's Note:**

> [Fic picks up right after this beautiful photoset](http://chaoticwaltz.tumblr.com/post/55440927945/dylanships-teen-wolf-au-derek-gets-hurt)

There have been several occasions in the past month  _alone_ that give Stiles the right to panic but  _none_ of them quite match up to this. His hands flit nervously above Derek’s torn and bleeding body, wanting to do something (heal, comfort, fix) but how can you do something when you know nothing? When you don't even know if taking Derek's shirt off isn't going to make him hurt more?  
  


Panic is crawling up his throat, making him babble as a result. “What do I do Derek? What do I do?” Someone needs to tell him what needs to be done because his own brain has passed out after getting an eyeful of Derek’s insides. And given that there’s no one else around in Derek’s loft, Stiles is relying on the werewolf to instruct him.  
  


His body thrums with barely restrained energy - ready to get up to his feet and run all the damned way across town to Deaton if need be! Whatever Derek tells him (within sensible limits, thank you very much. If there’s another handsaw involved then Stiles is going to pitch an honest to God  _fit!_ But go through with whatever needs to be done and send Derek his therapy bills), Stiles is ready to do!  
  


So when Derek’s eyes flutter open and he mumbles, “Nothing.” Stiles needs more than a few seconds to process the one word. What… Nothing?  _Nothing_?! The man’s bleeding out all over his fancy sheets, looking a breath away from dying and he wants Stiles to do  _nothing_  to save him?!  
  


Immediately a voice in his head yells about stupid self sacrificing werewolves who need a boot up their ass (it’s a special speech that he’s been putting together for most of the people around him). Stiles is ready to deliver the rough draft of it when Derek’s head lolls to the side.   
  


"Derek?" Stiles isn’t going to think about how his voice wobbles at the idea that maybe it’s too late. Nope, he really isn’t. There’s no way that Derek can do anything as stupid as dying from almost having his guts torn out of him courtesy of one alpha bitch. Stiles just can’t allow that. He  _won't_.  
  


He leans over the older man’s body, hands gently shaking Derek by the shoulders as he says, just shy of yelling, “You need to hold on, okay? Stay with me!” Derek’s head sags back, limp as a doll whose strings have been cut. A thousand and one curses come to mind, mixing with the rancid taste of fear and ‘what do I do what do I do’ crawling through his skin.   
  


Breathing! And pulse! Stiles wants to clock himself in the head for not checking either signs earlier. Cupping his sweat slick palm against Derek’s nose and mouth tells him that the man is still breathing - weak and shallow but it’s there. Pressing two shaking fingers against Derek’s neck reveals that his heart is still beating. Great, that is  _great_.  
  


Now, he needs to get Derek to wake up again.  
  


He starts by poking the werewolf’s face. It’s a tried and tested method of waking Scott up. “Wakey, wakey Derek.” Stiles tries in a shaky, overly cheerful voice. No dice. Okay, shaking hasn’t worked either. Maybe slapping his cheeks? That’s supposed to work too right? Stiles uses both hands to give crisp, quick slaps to Derek’s face but the man doesn’t even twitch. Splashing a handful of cold water on him makes him twitch but not wake up. This leaves one option.  
  


"I’m going to regret this." Stiles mumbles to himself as he gets a spectacularly bad idea. He  _really, really, **really**_ hopes that Derek won’t hit him for this. Then again he hadn’t the last time he had to do this so maybe there’s hope for Stiles to see his 18th birthday yet!  
  


"Sorry about this." Stiles mumbles, kneeling on the bed next to Derek but not over him out of fear of making his injuries worse, before he curls his hand into a fist.  _'This is going to hurt_.’ He tries to brace himself, gritting his teeth before he lets his fist swing and connect with Derek’s jaw.  _"Son of a bitch! Ouch!_ " Stiles curses, yelping when the body underneath him jerks up so hard that it de-seats the teenager.  
  


Falling down on the floor with a pained groan, Stiles rubs his elbow and then his knuckles before jumping up to his feet and glaring at Derek. “I don’t care  _what_ you say! I’m calling Deaton and Scott and they’re going to patch you up! There will be  _no_ dying here! Not today!”   
  


"Stubborn." Derek grunts tiredly, hissing as he falls back on his messy bed.  
  


Patting his jeans down for his phone, Stiles complains. “Takes one to know one, smart ass. Also! Can you  _please_  buy a stupid first aid kit already?! I’m getting tired of going through your apartment and finding three week old laundry but not a _singl_ e bandage to wrap your bleeding ass in!”  
  


When Derek doesn’t reply, Stiles looks up with a frantic gleam in his eyes. Derek looks ready to pass out again so Stiles jumps forward and gives his bicep a wicked pinch. The growl he gets in return comes with flashing red eyes that, for once, don’t even make Stiles flinch. “No passing out!” Stiles declares, pinching his fingers together for emphasis. “I’m going to pinch you every time you try to black out on me! I’m not going to go through alone.”  
  


He gives Derek his best ‘I shit you not’ look while hitting speed dial 5 and bringing his phone up to his ear. The dial tone toots three times before Deaton picks up and Stiles sighs with relief. “We’ve got a problem.” He starts, glaring at Derek when he sighs as though  _he’s_ the one being put through an ordeal. Stiles doesn’t even know why he  _bothers_ with this one.


End file.
